


Boys of Summer in Their Ruin

by PersephoneTree



Category: The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Horny Teenagers, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Peeping, Pre-Canon, Quiet Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29043198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersephoneTree/pseuds/PersephoneTree
Summary: A young Charles Brandon discovers an illicit meeting in the stables, and brings a young Prince Harry in on the secret.
Relationships: Charles Brandon/Henry VIII of England
Kudos: 6





	Boys of Summer in Their Ruin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [colonel_bastard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonel_bastard/gifts).



“What _is_ it, Charles? Tell me!”

“Hush, Harry. You’ll see.”

Henry pouts at the dirty straw upon which they kneel. “What is there to see in the stables?” he grumbles. “A horse’s cock?”

“Something much better,” Charles promises in a whisper. He hears a girlish giggle and grabs Henry’s shoulder, pulling him down so that both their heads are level with the broad split in the wood panel that hides them from view. “Shh! Here, look through here now.”

Through the crack, they spy a plump kitchen maid in a plain brown dress and white cap, grinning and backing up as she bats away the grasping hands of a stable boy in his livery. Her back hits the far wall and she squeals in mock dismay as the stable boy catches her about the waist. Beside Charles, Henry huffs in understanding and excitement, leaning in for a better view. 

“Come now, Bess, my sweet,” the stable boy is saying coaxingly. His hands have strayed from her waist to her skirts, pulling at the thick fabric. “Be good to your Will, eh?”

“Someone might see!” Bess laughs, fists beating half-heartedly at his chest.

“No one’s about, pet. Besides, e’nt we going to be married soon?”

The maid frowns at that. “You said that last time.”

“And I meant it! Still do.” Will ceases fumbling at her skirts and cups her face in his hands. “Don’t you love me?”

Bess mumbles something, and then the two are kissing, the stable boy’s hands dropping from her face to fondle the swell of white bosom rising from her bodice. Charles feels a familiar tightening in his loins as he watches, and looks sideways at Henry. Twin spots of red blaze in his prince’s cheeks, and his mouth hangs open in rapt wonder. Charles cannot help but smile; for all Harry’s bluster and charm, he (like Charles himself) is still as fresh a virgin at fifteen as any maiden, and has only stolen a chaste kiss here and there from the young ladies of his father’s court.

Turning back to peer through their peephole, Charles sees the stable boy’s face buried in Bess’ chest, sees her fingers tugging at his breeches. Will hikes her skirts up, revealing pale calves and a flash of thick thigh, and tugs his own breeches down about his hips. The boy’s cock bobs between his legs, dark with a shockingly pink head. Charles’ own cock hardens at the sight, and without thinking he presses the heel of his right hand to his groin, biting back a grunt of pleasure. 

He flicks a glance at Henry again, and sees his action mirrored: Henry, flushed, is touching himself too, the knuckles of his left hand grinding along the growing bulge in his hose. Before Charles can look away, Henry looks up and meets his eyes. They’ve spoken of sex, in a brotherly way, swapping stories of nightly emissions and impure thoughts; have eyed each other while swimming or pissing and compared sizes, Harry slightly thicker and Charles longer; but never this. For a stinging, shameful moment, Charles fears they’ve gone too far.

Then Harry grins at him daringly, wickedly, and dips his hand inside his hose to pull himself free. Encouraged and emboldened, Charles follows suit, and together they bend towards the crack in the wood panel, hands moving apace.

Bess has her legs up, now, wrapped around Will’s waist, pinned to the wall by his weight. Will’s skinny buttocks pump as he thrusts up inside her, half-hidden by her tousled skirts. Their laboured breathing mingles with the snuffing and soft whinnying of the horses. Bess lets out a moan, shaking her head back and forth. Next to Charles, Henry bucks into his grip and his head hits the panel with a thump. Panicked, Charles grabs at Henry’s doublet with his free hand to still him. If they’re heard, if they’re caught! Henry won’t be punished, of course, but he surely will be. His father would hear of it and whip him raw. He might even be banished from court.

But the lovers seem too caught up in each other to notice, or else think it the stomping of one of the horses. Henry crooks his head to the side, still leaning against the wall, and flashes Charles another wicked, open-mouthed smile. Charles stifles a laugh and resumes his task, stroking his foreskin up over the head of his cock with a little twist, the way he’s learned he likes it best. He wonders hotly what Harry likes. Perhaps he’ll ask him, after.

The maid on the other side of the wall moans again, and is answered with a sharp groan from Will. To Charles’ mingled delight and dismay, Henry groans too, hand moving rapidly in his lap, and this time he is heard. The pair of servants freeze in place, Bess’ head turning this way and that as she stares around the seemingly empty stable. Her hands flutter at Will’s back.

“What was that?” she quavers.

“Nothing,” Will mutters, resuming his thrusts, although he too is looking about him. “Nothing, nothing, don’t stop now, please--”

Charles turns with a scolding look to Henry, who does not see it at all. Lost now in his own pleasure, eyes fixed on the titillating sight through the peephole, Henry continues tugging at himself and his mouth opens to let out another heedless sound. Desperate, terrified, and helplessly aroused, Charles surges forward, grabs the back of Henry’s neck with his free hand, and covers his prince’s mouth with his own.

Henry lets out a muffled moan of surprise and arousal that echoes along Charles’ throat and thrills down his spine. Charles waits for him to pull away, but instead Henry reaches up and fists his right hand into the fabric of Charles’ doublet, holding him close. His hips cant forward as he thrusts into his left hand, and for an exhilarating instant the tip of his cock brushes Charles’ own. Henry shudders, breaking their kiss, and opens his eyes wide to stare dazedly into Charles’ face. His lips are wet and red from the force of Charles’ mouth. 

Charles swallows hard. He feels lightheaded, as intoxicated as the night they’d drunk themselves stupid on Henry’s birthday gift of French wine. On the other side of the wall, he can hear the heated panting of the two servants as they continue their fuck, and thanks God silently that neither pair has been discovered.

Henry leans forward again and pulls Charles in to touch their foreheads together. His blue eyes are intense, pupils blown wide with desire. “Charles,” he murmurs low, barely audible, mouth framing the syllables of the name. His gaze wavers and then drops to Charles’ lips. Through all this, his hand has not stopped moving, bouncing along the length of his cock as though on an invisible spring. “Charles,” he mouths again, “I’m going to--”

Charles kisses him. This time it is a true kiss, rough and messy and with all of Charles’ flood of emotion behind it. Henry goes rigid as he comes; Charles can feel his throat working as he fights to keep silent. He wonders feverishly what Henry sounds like when no one is there to hear. 

From behind the wall comes a masculine grunt, a soft feminine sigh. Skirts rustle, and Charles hears footsteps on straw, heading away. When he’s certain they are alone, he looses his grip on Henry’s nape and sits back on his heels. Before him is a sight more debauched than anything glimpsed through the crack in the wall: his prince, breathing hard, red-brown forelock tousled, a droplet of sweat beading down his temple as he cups his softening cock with sticky fingers. Heat blooms low in Charles’ belly. His own cock twitches, and he realizes with a start that he is still hard and unspent.

Henry notices too, and frowns. “You didn’t--” he pants.

Charles shakes his head. “Had to keep you quiet,” he says by way of excuse. He feels exposed, suddenly, embarrassed at his arousal and unsure of what to do next. Henry, too, seems uncertain; he wipes his hand distractedly on the straw, which only dirties his fingers further. Charles makes to tuck himself away, fumbling at his hose.

“What are you doing?” Henry demands.

“We should get back before we’re missed.”

“Aren’t you going to…?” Henry starts, and then trails off. His eyes fix for a moment on Charles’ lap, making Charles want to squirm in discomfort. Then he lifts his gaze to Charles’ face and his mouth turns up at one corner in a devilish smile. His eyes blaze bright. “Go on,” he commands, a dangerous edge in his voice. “I dare you.”

Charles licks his lips, which suddenly seem dry as a desert. Holding Henry’s gaze, he draws the palm of his right hand slowly along the underside of his cock, fingers catching at the ridge just below the head. “As Your Highness commands,” he whispers. Henry smirks, and Charles grins back at him, delirious with relief and happiness. Yes, their friendship is strong enough even for this.

He begins to stroke himself in earnest, squeezing gently with his closed hand as he pulls upwards. Henry’s eyes flit back and forth between Charles’ face and lap as if to capture every movement, every expression. Each time their eyes meet, an illicit thrill pricks at Charles’ heart. He comes with a shudder and a sharp gasp, head falling forward, feeling Henry’s burning gaze on him as his seed spills over his fingers onto the dirt. 

Peeking up through a tangle of curls, Charles reads triumph and something like wonder in Henry’s face, kin to the rapturous look he had seen as they’d watched the maid and her suitor. Charles wants to bask in that look always. In this moment, breathless and purged, he feels closer to Harry than ever before.

Then the mood shifts, just a fraction, and they are brothers in arms again. Henry rubs his left hand on his calf, brushing off the filthy straw, and claps Charles on the shoulder with his right. “That was indeed worth seeing,” he says, and Charles laughs as the double meaning reverberates between them. He cleans himself up as best he can, and together, shoulder to shoulder, they walk out into the light.


End file.
